How soon is now?
by Simplysheree
Summary: A collection of F!CourierXBoone one-shots. Mostly fluffy, but with a little angst and a few lemons thrown in for good measure.
1. How soon is now?

The timber house was impressive, if unpainted. It stood tall against the otherwise dilapidated skyline of Goodsprings. It still held the fresh, sweet smell of freshly cut wood, the glassless windows were like the missing front teeth of an enthusiastic child. From within its depths, a muffled clatter was followed by a loud, explosive expletive. Boone held his injured hand to his chest, growling like a wounded death claw,

"Damn chisel, fucking bastard of a thing." He petulantly kicked the guilty implement across the floor and settled down on the edge of the bed frame he had been working on for the last four days. Even he had to admit, it was taking shape nicely. The basic shape was there, but he couldn't resist embellishing it: the slow, methodical work kept his mind busy. It helped that he was making something beautiful. He imagined her lying in it, the finished product, and smiled dopily. It had taken so long for him to feel like he was allowed this happiness…he still wasn't sure he deserved it. But when he imagined the woman he loved lying next to him, in a house he built, in the bed he made…all the pain of the last twelve years faded away for a few moments.

He pulled his bloody hand away from its protective cocoon, eyeing the deep cut dubiously for a few seconds before tearing the sleeve off his t-shirt and wrapping it around the injury. That would do until lunch-time, he would ask Dahlia to stitch it up for him. Turning back to the bed, he surveyed the moment where he had slipped: a gouge in the wood stared back, ruining the flowing design. With a sigh, he began to work deeper into it, adding detail, changing small patterns to cover the mistake. Hours passed quickly, sweat soaked into his shirt, dripped from his nose, he was lost in his own world with a small smile on his lips. A soft, cool hand caressed his neck, drawing him back to the waking world,

"Wakey wakey…" Lips pressed to his salty skin, "Lunch is here." her nails bit into his chest, "I made you stew with fresh rolls…"

"That sounds heavenly." He groaned, feeling his stomach rumble,

"They're still hot." She giggled, tracing his lips with her finger, then squealing as he turned and lifted her, kissing her face and neck. She giggled, squirming in his arms, feather light, smelling of hearty food and comfort. He looked down at the meal laid out on the floor and smiled, "I thought you'd like to eat here." She kissed his sawdust caked face and slipped from his grasp, leaving a sucking ache in his chest .

The roll steamed when he broke it open, letting loose the gorgeous smell of fresh bread. Dipping it in his stew, he began to devour it with a fervour that made Dahlia smile,

"I love how much you enjoy food." She looked embarrassed, "Its nice to see you enjoying anything." He grinned, wiping stew from his chin,

"Its ok, I eat like a barbarian, I know." They laughed together, "You're a good cook. I love everything you make me." She ate slowly, smiling lightly, eyes warm as she gazed at him. When the food was done, he sighed regretfully, stretching his aching back,

"That was amazing. As usual."

"Don't thank me just yet…" She passed him more stew and another three rolls, giving a knowing smile, "I wouldn't leave you hungry."

"Am I that predictable?" He took the bowl without hesitation,

"No…" She drew out the syllable, smiling mischievously as she pressed a cold bottle of Nuka-cola into his hand, looking at the bed

"It looks good…I never knew you were so handy." The innuendo was not lost on him. He snorted with laugher,

"Really? You hadn't figured that out yet, Twinkle?" He leaned over to kiss her forehead,

"No…I always knew, from the moment we met." They sat in silence, suddenly overwhelmed by the immediacy of their past. "Who'd ever have thought that you'd make a carpenter, huh?"

"Not me. Thought I was only good for killing." He looked down at his hands, flexing it, almost seeing the blood-spatters on its calloused flesh. A small hand closed over his, Dahlia pulled him to her, stroking the scar that traced his jaw line,

"You're good for plenty…" She kissed him, kneeling in front of him, her skirt brushing his thighs "A good sniper, a good soldier," She hugged him as best she could, "A good builder, leader…" Her lips brushed his, "A good husband." Her wedding ring sparkled when she moved it in the light. "The best looking man I've met…and look…" She smiled, eyes wide in feigned shock, hand on her swollen belly, "Look at what you've done to me. You were good at that."

"Were?" He growled, tipping her back slightly, hand over hers on her stomach,

"Are." She whispered back, giggling as he pressed his face to her belly, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

"How long?"

"Three months." Her voice thickened with emotion, "Only three months.""And counting." He purred back, hands rubbing her belly, smiling happily.


	2. I need you

"_Heaven is a place on earth with you…"_

The crooning of the pre-war singer was soothing in a way Boone couldn't place: a surprisingly deep voice, but melodic. He sat alone, in the dark as he had so often…

"_I heard that you like the bad girls honey…."_

"Is that true?" A soft, high singing voice disrupted his thoughts, he turned to look at Dahlia: she stood in the doorway, a strange smile on her lips, "It's better than I even knew, they say that the world was built for two…." Her soft hands squeezed his shoulders, "Only worth living, if somebody is loving you."

"…_and baby now you do…"_

"You coming back to bed, baby?" She whispered in his ear, arms comforting around his neck. He kissed her forearm,

"Yeah, I will…I just have something I need to do…"

"Ok." Her lips pressed softly to his temple, "Make sure you don't take too long."

Her footsteps padded back to their bedroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again. He was scared as hell: he had left Novac looking for revenge and found a small, warped shred of happiness. Now he didn't know what to do. Gulping down a burning shot of whisky, he stifled a sob, what could he really do? He wanted to take what he had and run from it all. Run from the past and the legion and all the blood that had dogged his ever movement since bitter-springs. He rocked slightly, clasping his head

"_it's you , it's you , it's all for you….everything I do…."_

Gritting his teeth against a groan: he was lost. Could he really be allowed this? After what he had done, after all the shit he had seen could this really be his happy ending? He questioned whether or not this was even real at times.

The room was spinning now, blurred, the sounds from the old music player muffled by the liquid oblivion he had been downing. With clumsy feet he stood and moved toward the bedroom, squinting against the light of the ever lit hallway. When he pushed open the door a pool of light spread across the room, encompassing the prone figure on the bed. Despite himself, he smiled: she was nothing like the other one, but he loved her all the same. As much as he was capable, he loved her, her laugh, her smile, they way the skin on her nose formed sharp line when she was angry. Her fair hair spread out against the fine, silky sheets, her scarred skin was afforded a strange luminescence by the unnatural light. She was so still, so…peaceful.

A jolt of panic sent him blundering into the room, shaking her shoulder, roughly casting her into wakefulness. Drew tears forth when it became clear that she was alive and well,

"Hey! Hey! It's ok…" She smiled at his weakly, shaken by the turn of events, "It's all ok… it was just a dream…"

"A dream?" He frowned,

"Yes…I know you miss her, but it was just a bad-" He sprang away,

"Its nothing to do with her!" His anger was excessive, but he couldn't get away from it: it choked him with oily fingers.

"Then what is it about." She snarled back, never one to brook any trespass. He whirled away from her, then back, then away once more. His shoulders were shaking, he was losing it, he had to be. "What is this about?" Her question bit at an exposed nerve,

"You!" He spat, "It's about you and I'm leaving." He swept out of the room and into the elevator, jamming his finger on the ground floor button. Her small arm blocked the door and she slipped into the small compartment with him, looking shocked.

"What's going on?" She was upset, a twinge of guilt hit him,

"Get out."

"NO!" She was tearing up now, "What has gotten into you?!" She grabbed at his arm, pulling him to face her and in one fluid motion he moved with her, pressing her against the wall,

"You. Its about you…and me." His face was pale with anger, "Don't you get it. We'll be the death of each other… I'll be the death of you and I…" He looked down, "I don't want you to die…"

Fingertips traced his lips, his brows, his neck,

"I wouldn't want to do this without you…" Her voice was low, vulnerable…afraid. He looked up, shocked to see the utter, open emotion on her face, "Please don't leave me behind. I need you."


	3. A little something special

**This is pure fluff, I know, I know. **

**But it is all for the lovely Aniphine, who was heart-broken when I killed Boone off in 'Victory Lap'.**

**So here's for you Ani, a little fluffy, happy Coone fic !**

* * *

He couldn't believe what he was seeing, for the first time in countless years, Boone was utterly awed. The creature in front of him was beyond his understanding, it's perfection astounding, its frail strength utterly amazing. Was it some new, exotic predator that would destroy them all? No… his hands itched to reach for it, to see if it was as soft as it looked, to pick it up and squeeze it. Was it then some magical creature of legend, something spoke of only in fairytales to children? No…it was very much real, living and breathing, moving flesh. With shaking hands, he reached for this soft, breathtaking little thing and lifted it, cradling it to his chest with the greatest care.

With wide, cornflower blue eyes, Boone felt his first son regard him.

This little child seemed to not belong to this place, it was made of fairy dust and other less tangible things, like it's mother. He looked at Dahlia with a proud gleam in his eyes, she was staring at him with a soft curve to her lips,

"Well, Mr Boone, did I do well?" She was shaking with exertion, face pale and strained,

"Yes…" He could barely speak, a lump of joy and hope was choking him, caught in his cynacists throat, "He's…" He closed his mouth, unable to articulate, not wanting to blunder this sliver of perfection.

"I was going to call him Alexander, after your father." She was giving him a nervous look, one that said she knew that this could go either way, knowing that his relationship with his father had been less than stellar at times. A smile split his face,

"Yes. That's- That would be nice…" He looked at the child, "Would you like that Alex? Hmm? Or should we call you Xander after your Granda?" Dahlia smiled, then hissed through her teeth, lying back down, reaching for the baby,

"Give him here, daddy…mummy needs to feed him." She pulled the child to her chest and carried on as if she'd been doing it all her life. He smiled at turned away,

"I'll make us some food?"

"No…I'm tired…actually…" Her voice perked up a little, "I'd kill for some mac and cheese." He left them together, padding through the solid hallways of the haven he had built for them, seized by a sudden fear that it would not be enough. That something, somewhere would go terribly wrong, leave him alone again, friendless again. Selfishly, he questioned whether or not he was strong enough to do all this again, to start once more from scratch.

Resting his head against a door frame, eyes closed and weary, he felt the sun shining on his face through the window. It gave him strength, warmth, reminded him of he had been through, all that saint of a woman had been through to get to here. The blistering heat and scorching battles, the fights, the blood sweat and tears spilled onto the unforgiving Mojave ground. He clenched his fist, hearing the rough skin creak like new leather. No, he would not lose anything this time, he would keep this family together if it cost all the lives he and Dahlia had ever saved. There was, in short, nothing he wouldn't do for her and their child. And he prayed that she knew that.

She stood at the door watching the dawn, arms folded around her now soft, curvy frame. Silently, he padded past, placing the newborn into his cot. Boone had thought to let her get a full, good nights sleep by taking care of the baby, but it seemed that he had failed. He strolled up to her,

"You alright twinkle?" He slid his hands around her belly, marvelling at how soft and flat it had become since he last touched it. It still held a certain softness that spoke of the pregnancy, but she was young and hellishly resilient, that he knew, she would return to her normal state.

"Mmm." She leaned back into him, proffering the cup of tea she had been holding, his refusal was polite but firm, "Do you…do you ever wonder if we did the right thing?"

"When?" He kissed her neck, rubbing her hips to encourage her to lean more of her weight on him, knowing she would be sore,

"Having Xander." She sighed, as if sensing the panic that was consuming him, she turned to face him, "I mean, are you not afraid that we wont be able to protect him?" Her beautiful eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, she had been crying, "I know it sounds horrible…I do love him so much, so, so much…He's perfect." She trailed off, "But I feel guilty…"

"Guilty?" He frowned,

"I couldn't protect his big brother, how can he ever trust me to take care of him." Her sobs shook her body, she clung to him as if he were her last lifeline, "I'm sorry…I'm so, so, sor-"

"Enough." He caught her chin between his hands, "Look at me! He is the most beautiful little thing I've ever seen, so small and helpless…I was afraid too." She looked shocked, "That's right, I was shitting myself…I wondered if I had done enough to make sure that you two are safe. But I figure something out, Dahlia. I realised that that little boy has both of us looking out for him and while we might be a little broken, between us, I'd say we're pretty competent killers no?" A trill of songbirds laughter, "And if anyone tries to hurt him, we will kill them and if anyone tries to hurt you. _I_ will kill them." He pulled her close, kissing her forehead, her face, eventually her lips. They stood for a while, locked together, "You and him, you're everything I need and there's nothing I wouldn't do to take care of you two…" He trapped her face between his big, rough hands and pressed his forehead to hers, "You have nothing to fear. I promise you that much."

Dahlia stood silent at first, nose pressed to the crook of his neck, taking in the smell of him with an almost frightfully strong feeling of love and adoration overwhelming her. She chuckled,

"You know, that might be the most you've said without stopping outside of the bedroom." her pretty lips quirked into a wicked smile, drawing out his laughter like poison from a wound. She had always been good at that,

"You know, I though you were going to leave me for a moment there." He confessed, feeling his jaw drop when she slapped him firmly across the face,

"That's for being so fucking stupid," She gripped the back of his neck, puling him to her for a kiss. Boone was lost, lost in the smell of her and the feel of her against him, lost to the relief and happiness and exhaustion, she pulled away taking a small, disappoint mutter from his lips with her, "And that's for being so wonderful."

From inside the house a thin, gasping wail came, he turned to go,

"No. He'll be hungry, my turn." She slipped past him, smiling back at him over her shoulder as she slid out of view. He leaned back against the door, hearing her singing to the child lowly. For the first time in years, without being induced to do so by others, without reservation, Boone allowed himself to plan the future, he allowed himself to hope. For the first time since bitter-springs he let a smile free without considering whether it was warranted, without it being for effect, for someone else.

He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck as the sun crept up his legs.

Surely, he reasoned, it was time he caught a break.


End file.
